Third Wheel
by treeson
Summary: In a party of three, someone is always the third wheel.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own either Supernatural or Harry Potter, its situations, characters, or places. All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners.

* * *

"It's not that I don't like the idea," she said, looking back at him as he held door open for the people coming in after them, "I just don't think it's remotely viable. The signs of Hunger and Pestilence will be far different than War's, and from what you said you only stumbled across him in the first place."

"Will you shut up about that around people?" Dean muttered, staring sideways at old Mrs. Nosy and her husband as they joined the line at the podium.

Why he ever let Hermione talk him into coming to this froo-froo restaurant instead of the pizza place he'd been digging since he saw it across from the hotel, he didn't know. She'd done something, he was sure. Some kind of magic. And then she'd put on that dress, which wasn't fair. Hermione and _slink_ did not go together at all—or that was what he would have said yesterday, before he saw her slinky black dress. Slinky _backless_, whatever that word was that meant two tiny strips of fabric in front, emphasis _tiny_, dress.

So he wore a leather jacket. Stop sizing him up, old lady Nosy.

"You said I should state my opinions more." The waitress led away the group of five in front of them. They moved up.

"I meant when you're making fun of Sam," Dean said. "Not all the time. Wait. I mean, not like _that_, but—" Her face stonier than a cliff, she lifted her chin and turned her head away. Dean grimaced. So much for getting anywhere under that dress tonight or ever. Stupid dress. Stupid place with stupid matre-dids or whatever in their stupid bow ties and giant Mr. Pringles mustaches and—

Familiar faces.

_Dead_faces.

"Her—no, _wait_—" He went to grab Hermione, but she jerked from his touch, stepped up to podium, and said, "Wilkes, party of two."

Gabriel's mustache moved in what Dean realized was a grin. "_Hermione,_" he whispered fiercely, only moving toward the podium so he could get Hermione the _fuck_ away from the dead angel and then leave this _state_.

Gabriel barely glanced down at the reservation list before he made a broad sweep with his arm. "If you and Mr. Wilkes could follow me—"

Dean's jaw dropped. What kind of trick was this? How could he even be alive? Was this Gabriel-Gabriel or reprogrammed Gabriel in a matching meatsuit? Would Mr. Nosy stop gawking at Hermione's dress?

Hermione beat him to the punch. Darkly, she said, "Oh, we're _not_together."

Dean pressed pause. She didn't have to say it like _that_.

Gabriel stayed surprised for only a millisecond. By the time Dean had screwed his head back on right, reaching out, about to yank Hermione away from the podium, the world went batshit a second time.

Gabriel did something with his eyebrows that sent them jumping like preteens at a Jonas Brothers concert, and directed a seductive pout at Hermione. "_Really_now?"

Dean closed his eyes. "Please tell me I'm knocked out."

Hermione finally realized something way bad was up. She jumped away from Gabriel when she saw Dean's face. Gabriel was too quick. He grabbed her arm. Dean's hand jumped to his gun, but oh fuck none of that would work on Gabriel, and now he had Hermione halfway across the restaurant and she couldn't keep up on her heels and—

Dean kicked himself into high gear. He dashed after them. He wove through tables at a fast clip, not fast enough to get the attention of these fancy-ass people directed toward him, but enough to keep Gabriel in sight as he jogged Hermione toward the back. She must've thought the same thing about the witnesses, because she didn't pull out any of her magic.

How was this even _possible_?

This was what he got for coming to one of these places. Civilized, his ass. She could've got a salad at the pizza place. Mushrooms and peppers, at least.

This wasn't possible. Lucifer had friggin _shanked_Gabriel with his own sword—he couldn't be back, it was beyond impossible, it was … some five syllable word only Hermione knew. There was no coming back from that.

They were too far ahead when he heard Hermione's, _"Dean!"_He sped up just in time to catch Hermione's fingers ripped away from the doorjamb, a flash of silver from the cheese knife sticking out of Gabriel's chest and then the kitchen door closed. Dean caught it on the rebound. The kitchen was full of smells—double glad they weren't eating here—funny hats, and people shouting. A man wearing a frilly bib shouted at him to stop. Dean flipped him off and kicked open the fire exit.

The metal door closed with a thump. Stale bread and cucumber replaced the food smells off the kictchen, which was actually better. The alley, open both ways, and deserted. Go the wrong way he'd lose Hermione—he'd get her back eventually, but no telling what messed up shit Gabriel would throw her into while he waited for them to catch up.

Something out of place caught his eye. Hermione's shoe. Further down the alley he saw the other one.

He hoped she didn't expect him to play out Cinderella, he thought, and ran left.

The alley went forever. Dean would get halfway there, his boots slapping on the cement, and find the entrance still a football field away. It meant Gabriel was near, and wanted to play.

"Bastard," he muttered, pulling himself to a halt.

"You kiss—well, I _was_ going to say your _very_… fiery witch over here, but she made it obvious you didn't."

Dean closed his eyes. _I only wanted some pizza._Slowly, he turned around. Gabriel had himself propped against the wall, all Captain Morgan on the wooden chair Hermione sat roped in.

He wiggled his fingers at him. "'lo, Dean."

"Gabriel." He didn't place the welcome mat out. "Take it you're not dead."

He tapped the side of his nose. "Good eye. Take it you took my advice about the rings?"

Hermione made a muffled sound from behind her gag. She looked from Dean to Gabriel, shock etched around her eyes.

Gabriel pouted at her again. "Knew you'd be impressed."

"Thought you were gone for good," Dean said, distracting Gabriel from Hermione. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, wished a gun'd work on the son of a bitch. "Lucifer didn't expect your tricks?"

"Well." Gabriel made a considering face, but Dean saw the glint in his eye long before he broke into a grin. "What can I say? I don't put my eggs into just one or forty baskets."

Whatever that meant. "Alright, whatever." He nodded to Hermione. "Why don't you let her go now?"

Gabriel kicked off from the wall and took the two steps required to stand behind Hermione's chair. He put his hands on her shoulders. She jerked. "I don't know," he said, shrugging and yanking her back. "We bonded."

"Sure," Dean said. "You might wanna take that knife outta your chest."

He wrinkled his nose. "Isn't she cute?"

"C'mon, Gabriel," Dean said. "I thought we were friend … ish back there. You didn't have to do this whole kidnap my date thing to talk to me."

Hermione made a face around her gag. Gabriel's mustache frowned.

"Oh my god—" Dean rolled his eyes. "_Fine_, not a date. Does it matter—he friggin _tied you up_!"

From her face, Gabriel could've hung her upside down from a volcano and she still would've cared about the details.

"This is _exactly_why I wanted pizza," Dean told her.

Giving him a look of acute dissatisfaction, she pulled her arms out from behind her and shook off the ropes. She took the gag from her mouth—Dean thought something very negative about that—and stood, lifting her dress so it didn't drag on the ground. Then she looked to him for her shoes.

Shit.

Dean glanced at his watch. Almost 7 o'clock. Sam would get back from the hospital soon and would be looking for them. Probably should get back to the motel... Yep, she was totally glaring. So don't call him Prince Charming, he wasn't gonna run around carrying her frickin shoes.

She huffed and summoned them. Dean watched Gabriel goggle down her dress as she leaned over to slip on her shoes. Why couldn't he have been at the hospital instead? He was good at research, and then Sam would be here instead of him and he'd probably be wearing a tux matching Gabriel's and this would have _never_ happened _and_Sam probably wouldn't be as disappointed as Dean was that he couldn't see down Hermione's dress too.

Hermione straightened once her shoes were on, switched the evil eye off and folded her arms as she turned on Gabriel. "If this is your way of initiating an alliance, it is _severely_lacking in class."

"But bags and bags of style," Gabriel said.

"You wish," Dean muttered, but Hermione seemed to agree with Gabriel because she didn't contradict it like she always did Dean. Come on. Didn't she remember stabbing him with a cheese knife? What happened to that attitude? He _liked_that attitude.

"That's what you want?" Dean asked Gabriel, scoffing. "You could've tried a fruit basket."

"So how about it?" Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at her. Dean rolled his eyes. C'mon, this was getting ridiculous. _He_was the one Gabriel should be asking and it wasn't like she—holy shit, was she eye fucking him back?

"Is that a real mustache?" she asked, her fingers fiddling with the locket hanging between those two thin strips of fabric. She was … she was _flirting_ with him? _Gabriel?_

"It could be removable," Gabriel said.

Something in his brain imploded.

Dean was more than ready to gouge his own eyes out with his hunting knife. He spoke up to keep his hand away from it. "Hermione?" She reluctantly turned his way. Dean motioned at her to come closer. "Let's chat real quick. One sec," he added to Gabriel. He closed his eyes in pure third-grade horror when she looked back at Gabriel. By the time she walked toward him, a smile strained his lips.

"Yeah," he said, lowering his voice once she got close enough, "dude's not all mustache and fun times. Kind of an archangel, more of a Loki, and all around dick."

"Really?" Hermione's lips turned down, impressed, and Dean groaned. She glanced at her nails. "So, um, he was killed by Lucifer?"

"We thought so."

"And he's"—she shrugged, picked at her nail—"you know, intelligent?"

"Me and Sam tried to kill him about sixty times," Dean said. "If we couldn't do it and _Lucifer_couldn't – Wait, you're not—"

She shook her head, looked away. "It's not like my opinion _matters_."

Dean sighed. God, he hated chick stuff. The only reason he kept Hermione around was that she was fierce with that wand—and she kind of scared the crap out of him, so he wanted to keep her close. With Sam it was the whole brother thing, no choice there. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Well," she said, watching his face carefully, "if he's as good as you say, _my_opinion is that we should consider an alliance. He obviously has millenniums of experience we don't, and I'm sure Castiel would be pleased one of his brothers is on the right side."

Okay, so he hadn't thought of it like that. Well, he _had_, and then Gabriel died and the point was moot. So he was thinking it again, and it sounded good, though he thought Hermione was off about Castiel wanting brotherly angel rainbow hugs and all. And the way Hermione had eyed Gabriel earlier was like watching a shark try to sneak up on a crocodile underwater. Plain terrifying, and ending in bloodshed one way or another.

"But that's just my opinion," Hermione said.

"Oh, c'mon, don't make that face," Dean said. "Fine," he quickly added. "Just - stop looking at me like I shanked your dog."

"Now that _that's_settled," Gabriel said, slinging his arm over Hermione's shoulders with a grin like an alliagtor. "How 'bout we go celebrate this"—Dean bravely stopped himself from covering his eyes to avoid seeing the lusty look Gabriel gave Hermione as he savored the last word—"union."

"We _are_dressed"—cheeks pink, she glanced sideways at him—"well, the majority of us are dressed for it."

Gabriel swung his head around to Dean.

"I – uh." Dean closed his eyes. Egad. "I think I'll just let you two … do whatever. I'm, you know. Yeah."

Hermione blinked at him. "Are you sure?"

"What are you talking about? You couldn't shake the man's certainty for anything." Gabriel pushed Hermione forward a little. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Hermione did—the last sight of her face he caught, she was grinning—and Gabriel tilted his head sideways to watch her walk away.

"Oh, that is—" He whistled lowly. "Makes you wanna burn the mustache, you know?"

"Yeah, I don't," Dean said, squashing that tangent before it could gather steam. "What else you got to say, besides whatever the hell that was?"

"What? Oh." Gabriel grinned. "Nothing."

"Go away before I shoot you."

"Shoulda wore a tux," he told him, slapping Dean on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward a step.

"_Shoulda_ got pizza," Dean muttered, and cuffed his hands around his mouth as he shouted, "Take the knife out of your chest!"

_fin._


End file.
